Authors: Rosamunde Pilcher
"TouchePandora laughed and shook her head. "No. I'm the last to preach. Just talking off the top of my head." Abruptly, she abandoned the argument, yawned and stretched, reached upwards, spreading her fingers. "I'm tired. I came to say good night. I'm going to bed."
"I hope you have sweet dreams."
"What about you?"
"I want to get this finished and done with. Then, every spare moment I have I shall be able to spend with you."
"Dear man." On her feet, she stooped to kiss him. "I'm glad I came home."
"Me too."
She went to the door, opened it, hesitated, and turned back.
"Archie?"
"What is it?"
"I've often wondered. Did you get that letter I sent you in Berlin?"
"Yes."
"You never replied."
"By the time I'd decided what I was going to say, you'd gone to America and it was too late."
"Did you tell Isobel?"
"No."
"Did you . . . speak to anybody?"
"No."
"I see." She smiled. "The Airds are coming for lunch tomorrow."
"I know. I asked them."
"Good night, Archie."
"Good night."
The evening slipped into night. The house settled as the momentum of another busy day wound itself down. Hamish watched television for a bit and then made his way upstairs. Isobel, in the kitchen, laid the table for breakfast-the last chore of the day-and then let the dogs out for their last sniff around the dark garden, alert for scents of marauding rabbit. Lights were turned off, and she too headed for bed. Later still Jeff and Lucilla returned from the village. They let themselves in through the back door. Archie heard their voices above him in the hall. And then silence.
Past midnight, and he was finally finished. Another day and the enamel would be dry. He tidied up, put lids on small paint-pots, cleaned his brushes, turned off the light and closed the door. Slowly he made his way down the shadowy passage and up the stairs to do his nightly rounds, which he called putting the house to bed. He checked locks on doors and snibs on windows, fireguards and electrical plugs. In the kitchen, he found the dogs asleep. He filled a tumbler with water and drank it. Finally he trod up the stairs.
But he did not go immediately to his own bedroom. Instead he walked down the passage and saw the shaft of light, still burning, beneath the door of Lucilla's room. He tapped and opened the door and found her in bed, reading by lamplight.
"Lucilla."
She looked up, marked her page and laid her book aside. "I thought you'd gone to bed hours ago."
"No. I've been working." He came to sit on the edge of her bed. "Did you have a good evening?"
"Yes, it was fun. Toddy Buchanan in his usual good form."
"I wanted to say good night, and I wanted to say thank you."
"What for?"
"Coming home. Bringing Pandora."
His hand lay on her eiderdown. She laid her own on top of it. Isobel's night-gowns were white lawn trimmed with lace, but Lucilla slept in a green T-shirt with "Save the Rain Forests" printed across the chest. Her long dark hair was spread like silk on her pillow, and he was filled with love for her.
"You're not disappointed?" she asked him.
"Why should I be disappointed?"
"Often when you've looked forward to something for years, you feel a bit let down when it actually happens."
"I don't feel let down."
"She is beautiful."
"But dreadfully thin, don't you think?"
"I know. There's nothing of her. But she's so hyper that she burns everything up."
"What do you mean?"
"Just that. She sleeps a lot, but when she's awake she's charging on every cylinder. Super-charging, I would say. Being with her all the time is really quite exhausting. And then she passes out as though sleep is the only thing that's going to top up her batteries."
"She was always like that. Mrs. Harris used to say, That Pandora. Either up in the clouds or doon in the midden.'"
"Manic-depressive."
"Surely not as bad as that."
"Tending that way."
He frowned. And then asked the question that had been niggling around at the back of his mind all evening. "You don't think she's on drugs?"
"Oh, Dad."
He immediately wished that he had not mentioned his fears. "I only ask you because I imagine you know more about these things than I do."
"She's certainly not a junkie. But perhaps she does take something to bubble her along. A lot of people do."
"But she's not addicted?"
"Oh, Dad, I don't know. But worrying about Pandora isn't going to do any good. You've just got to accept her for what she is. The person she's turned into. Have fun with her. Lots of laughs."
"In Majorca ... do you think she's happy?"
"She seems to be. And why not? A heavenly house, a garden, a pool, lots of money . . ."
"Does she have friends?"
"She has Seraphina and Mario, who take care of her . . ."
"That wasn't what I meant."
"I know. No, we didn't meet her friends, so I don't know if she has any or not. We didn't really meet anybody. Except one man. He was there the day we arrived, but after that we never saw him again."
"I thought she would have a resident lover."
"I think probably he was her lover and the reason he didn't come back was because we were there." He said nothing to this, and Lucilla smiled. "It's a different world out there, Dad."
"I know that. I know."
She put her arms around his neck and pulled him down and kissed him. She said, "You mustn't worry."
"I won't."
"Good night, Dad."
"Good night, my darling. God bless you."
Chapter
5
Sunday the Eleventh
Sunday morning. Overcast, very still, very quiet, hushed with the weekly inertia of a Scottish Sabbath. It had rained during the night, leaving puddles by the roadside and gardens dripping with moisture. In Strathcroy, cottages slumbered, curtains stayed drawn. Slowly the occupants stirred, rose, opened doors, lit fires, made cups of tea. Plumes of peat-smoke rose, straight, from chimney-pots. Dogs were walked, hedges clipped, cars washed. Mr. Ishak opened up his shop for the sale of morning rolls, milk, cigarettes, Sunday newspapers, and any other commodity that a family might need to get through the empty day. From the tower of the Presbyterian church, the bell tolled.
At Croy, Hamish and Jeff were downstairs before anyone else and, between them, cooked their own breakfast. Bacon and eggs, sausages and tomatoes, racks of fresh toast, marmalade and honey, all washed down with large cups of very strong tea. Isobel, descending later, found their dirty breakfast dishes stacked by the sink, and a note from Hamish.
Dear Mum. Jeff and me have taken the dogs up to the loch. He wants to see it. Back about twelve
-
thirty. In time for beef.
Isobel made coffee, sat and drank it, thought about peeling potatoes, making a pudding. She wondered if there was enough cream for a fool. Lucilla appeared, and finally Archie, wearing his good tweed suit because it was his day to read the lesson in church. Neither his wife nor his daughter offered to accompany him. With ten people for lunch, they had more than enough to do.
Pandora slept the morning through and did not put in an appearance until a quarter past twelve, by which time all the hard work in the kitchen had been accomplished. It was instantly clear, however, that she had not been idle, but,busy titivating: painting her nails, washing her hair, doing her face, splashing herself in Poison. She wore a jersey dress patterned in diamonds of brilliant colour; it was so fine and supple and elegant that it had to be Italian. Discovering Lucilla in the library, she swore that she had slept the night through, but seemed perfectly happy to sink into the depths of an armchair and gratefully accept the offer of a glass of sherry.
At Pennyburn, Vi sat up in her bed, drank her early morning tea, and planned her day. She should perhaps go to church. There was plenty to pray for. She thought about this and then decided against it. Instead, self
-
indulgence. She would stay where she was, conserving her energy. She'd finish her current book and then, after a late breakfast, sit at her desk to deal with overdue bills, pension funds, and that incomprehensible demand from the Inland Revenue. For lunch, she had been invited to Croy. Edmund, with Virginia and Henry, would pick her up and drive her on up the hill.
She thought about this with more disquiet than delight and gazed from the window and assessed the mood of the weather: rain all night but now damp and still and muggy. Perhaps later it would cheer up. It was the sort of day, in more ways than one, that needed to be cheered up. For comfort, she decided, she woul
d w
ear her grey wool. For courage, the new
. H
ermes scarf.
At Balnaid, Virginia went in search of Henry. "Henry, come and change."
He was on the floor of his playroom, constructing Space Lego, and resented the interruption. "Why do I have to change?"
"Because we're going out for lunch and you can't go looking like that." "Why can't I?"
"Because your jeans are dirty, and your T-shirt's dirty, and your shoes are dirty, and you are dirty." "Do I have to dress up?"
"No, but you have to put on a clean T-shirt and a clean pair of jeans and a clean pair of sneakers." "What about socks?" "Clean socks."
He sighed, hard done by. "Do I have to put my Space Lego away?"
"No, of course you don't have to. Leave it where it is. Just come, or Daddy'll start getting impatient."
She led him, lagging, to his bedroom, then sat on his bed and stripped off his T-shirt.
"Will there be any other children there?" "Hamish."
"He won't want to play with me." "Henry, you're such a ninny about Hamish. If you don't behave like a ninny, he'll like playing with you. Take off your jeans and your trainers." "Who's going to be there?"
"Us. And Vi. And the Balmerinos. And Lucilla because she's come home from France. And her friend. He's called Jeff. And Pandora." "Who's Pandora?" "Archie's sister." "Do I know her?" "No."
"Do you know her?"
"No."
"Does Daddy know her?"
"Yes. He knew her when she was a little girl. Vi knows her too."
"Why don't you know her?"
"Because she's been living abroad for a long, long time. She lived in America. This is the first time she's come back to Croy."
"Does Alexa know her?"
"No. Alexa was only a tiny baby when she went to America."
"Does Pandora know your gramps and grandma at Leesport?"
"No. They live in Long Island, and Pandora lived in California. That's right over the other side of the United States."
"Does Edie know her?"
"Yes. Edie knew her when she was a little girl as well."
"What does she look like?"
"Heavens above, Henry, I've never met her, so I can't tell you. But you know that picture in the dining
-
room at Croy? Of the pretty girl? Well, that's Pandora when she was young."
"I hope she's still pretty."
"You like pretty ladies."
"Well, I certainly don't like ugly ones." He screwed up his face, making a monster grimace. "Like that Lottie Carstairs."
Despite herself, Virginia had to laugh. "You know something, Henry Aird, you'll be the death of me. Now, hand me your hairbrush, and then go and wash your hands."
From the foot of the stairs, Edmund called, "Virginia."
"We're on our way!"
He waited for them, dressed for the occasion in gre
y f
lannels, a country shirt, a club tie, a blue cashmere pullover, his chestnut-polished Gucci loafers.
"We should go."
Reaching his side, Virginia kissed him. "You're looking handsome, Mr. Aird. Did you know that?"
"You're not looking so gruesome yourself. Come along, Henry."
They got into the BMW and drove. They stopped for a moment in the village, where Edmund went into Mr. Ishak's and emerged with the bulky wodge of the Sunday newspapers. Then on to Pennyburn.
Vi heard them coming and was ready for them, on the point of locking her front door. Edmund leaned over to open the door for her and she got in beside him. Henry thought she was looking very smart and told her so.
"Thank you, Henry. This is the pretty scarf your mother brought me from London."
"I know. She brought me a cricket bat and a ball."
"You showed me."
"And she brought Edie a cardigan. Edie loves it. She says she's keeping it for best. It's sort of pinky blue."
"Lilac," Virginia told him.
"Lilac." He said the word over to himself because it had a pleasant sound. Lilac.